


Across the Line

by goldenfennel



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, Art, Art appreciation, Ben Solo is an art nerd, Brief scenes of non-sexual torture, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Government Corruption, Interrogation, Killing cops, Lies! Deception!, Loneliness, M/M, Mentions of Racism, Modern Era, No One Is Perfect, Obsession, Police Brutality, Political messaging, Possessive Behavior, Stormpilot by Nicholas Sparks, alternative universe, ben solo redemption arc, choo choo all aboard the pain train, pass it around, street art
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-07-02 17:23:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15801159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenfennel/pseuds/goldenfennel
Summary: Ben Solo is a deputy chief in the corrupt, authoritarian Los Angeles Police Department (AKA "The Order"). He is in a blossoming relationship with Rey, an artistically-talented mechanic who has recently immigrated to the United States. Finally, it seems something is going right in the lives of these two broken people. But when a run-in with The Resistance, a socio-political art group, opens Rey's eyes to the other side of Ben Solo and the dark deeds of The Order, she finds her heart pulled in two opposing directions. Rey faces questions of morality and justice in her struggle to find belonging, take down The Order, and love a man who exists across the line.





	1. September 1, 10:00 PM

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!  
> CW: police brutality, mentions of racism, graphic violence, and brief scene of torture during interrogation  
> There's a lot of political messaging in this fic and many of the themes contained are real problems people face today. Please check out these groups to see how you can help: RAICES, Los Angeles LGBT Center, Legal Aid Foundation of Los Angeles, My Friend's Place Los Angeles, the National Police Accountability Project, and the ACLU.

His large hand reaches out, tentatively, to move an errant strand out of Rey’s face. It’s the first purposeful, intimate, physical contact they make, and she feels every nerve in her body tingle at the gentle stroke of his finger across her forehead, the sweetness of the gesture contrasting with the roughness of his skin. She internally thanks herself for never putting product on her hair. 

“When can I see you again, Rey?” The deep tenor of his voice reverberates in her chest and the sound of her name on his tongue is the dulcet lullaby the moon whispers to the tides, beckoning them closer, closer. 

“What makes you so sure I want to see you again, Ben Solo?” she challenges with a coy smile. Even though there was plenty of evidence to make him sure, Rey enjoyed their little flirting game: a mock competition of sorts – who could play it cool the longest, as though they both didn’t feel a sudden and ferocious desire to belong to each other. It is for this reason that his response, spoken whilst standing in the doorway to her apartment, on the night of only their second date together in this galaxy, places her in a semi-catatonic moment of utter stupor. 

“I don’t know, Rey,” he swallows, a very pained, very genuine look of fear molding his usually-placid pallor. He truly was the moon, only appearing to change by how much he let show. “I’ve asked myself that for weeks, since I met you. I can’t pretend to understand how I could possibly deserve your time.” 

Rey, on the other hand, is the ocean: a dynamic force teeming with life, ingenuous and unmasked. Despite being in a seemingly-constant state of flux her whole life, her sense of identity has been unceasing, and there has never been thoughts of being anything other than her authentic self. She has a sense Ben does not share in this luxury, and this sudden light chasing away the shadows shrouding his true feelings creates an intimacy Rey didn’t think could be achieved while clothed. 

“And still, here you are,” he continues, his dark eyes quietly conveying the amazement of a man lost in the desert, happening upon a fountain. Rey places a delicate hand on his collarbone area, smoothing his collar. 

“Haven’t made it to the third date much, huh?” she playfully croons, earning her a half-smile from him and easing the building tension. But the closer the moon, the more powerful the tides. 

“Do you want to come inside? Plutt won’t be back in until tomorrow, and-“ 

“ _Yes,_ ” he answers immediately.

 _Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz._

_“Fuck.”_

 

\-----

 

“Keep it down, will ya? Pigs’ve been crawling this street since Saturday.” 

Finn’s hushed voice quiets his chittering couterparts. No matter how many jobs they pull, each new installation floods their collective bloodstreams with adrenaline; nervous chatter is just a byproduct. 

“I ain’t scared of ‘em. I say good if they ever pick me up. I got somethin’ to tell ‘em.”

Poe Dameron keeps his attention on the job as he speaks, working his soft bristle brush over the paper to remove as many bubbles as possible. Beneath the surface, he knows Finn is right. The Order (as he liked to call them) had doubled their already heavy patrol of the neighborhood since Deputy Dickface added another jewel to his crown when he killed Wedge. Poe had known him; they’d exchange conversation as Wedge went to the back to retrieve Poe’s too-expensive cigarettes. You know, we only order these for you. No one else gonna spend that. He’d told Poe, a big smile cracking across his face – white teeth juxtaposing his dark skin as he slid the cigarettes across the cool metal counter. Positivity radiated from him. Check this out, he’d always say before he popped an earphone into Poe’s ear and played his latest mix.  
_I’m just sayin’, if Jay can do it, you know, with where he come from, why not me?_  
He was shot three times in the back Saturday night walking home after clocking out. Police say he ‘matched a description.’ But there was always a description. And it never seemed to change. It made Poe’s blood boil. He rakes his brush down the completed section again. It had to be perfect – for Wedge. In the back of his mind, a playlist the teen had sent him a few months back hums. 

“Yeah, well, Paige had something to say too,” Rose quipped. “And look what happened.” 

Her voice only slightly falters at the latter part of her sentence, a stark improvement from the sobs mentions of her sister used to induce. Rose Tico had joined the Resistance only a year ago, following in her older sibling’s footsteps. But the nubile enthusiasm was pulled out of her chest when Paige was arrested for assault on an officer. The pair had been walking home from the Raddus when they witnessed a patrolling officer stop and frisk two preteen boys. Stop-and-frisk had been outlawed years before, and Paige promptly reminded the deputy in such a manner that could not be ignored. She never laid a finger on him, but she was on a list, the Resistance list, and since the department controls the narrative, Paige never had a chance. She’s in jail now, serving a ten year sentence. The Resistance started a Crowdfund to pay for a lawyer when their appeal gets approved. It will get approved, Rose periodically reassures herself. 

Still, Paige’s name reminds all the artists that they’re not invincible. They could be caught at any moment, and, given their history, the Order would show them no mercy.  
They work in silence for a few moments more, pasting their latest creation on the bricked wall of a barbershop, for all the world to see. Finn finally breaks the tension.

“Besides babe, I dunno what I’d do without you.” 

The dark-skinned man stops his work and looks back at Poe for emphasis, giving him a small smile. Poe beams, shaking his head as he continues to keep lookout. 

“Alright, y’all, I think we’re done here,” Tallie Lintra says, hopping off and folding the stepstool in one swift motion. Time is of the essence. 

Everyone takes a step away from the wall. Right at eye level, Wedge stares back. His social media profile photo had been plastered all over the news, but plastered on the side of that barbershop, he looks some kind of angelic. He peers over his shoulder, donning a hoodie and a baseball cap. One earbud sticks out of the side of his head, in its usual fashion. Poe’s hand-drawn recreation of the photo used shadow to emphasize Wedge’s brilliant smile. Looking on the scanned, blown-up, and printed version of that first sketch now, Poe supposes that choice was possibly subconscious. Perhaps he should have focused more elsewhere. But when Finn intertwines their fingers together and hands him the king size Sharpie, only one word comes to mind. 

Poe kneels down and scrapes the marker against the white bottom edge of the paper poster. ‘Remember,’ and the Resistance’s symbol. Remember an easy smile and earbuds, and remember what happened Saturday night. Tallie snaps a photo. 

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” she says, not a beat before a cruiser rounds the corner just a block north. 

Swearwords of choice are exchanged under breaths as the group turns in the opposite direction of the patrol. 

“It’s okay, we’re okay. We haven’t done anything illegal. Well we have. But they don’t know that. Keep it cool. Walk normal.”

“Jess, let’s not right now.”

This very situation has happened dozens of times before, and the Resistance is very well-versed in how best to behave. They even held a workshop on it over at the base. Nonetheless, Jessika Pava is a nervous talker coping with long-standing anxiety the only way she knows how.  
Poe hears the slow crunch of gravel under tires rolling closer. They have all their gear on them: brooms, buckets coated with watery glue, the stepladder. They’re suspicious. The last blue twinge of dusk colors the sky – enough light for a novice officer to ID the most infamous opposition to the Order. 

“Left,” Poe directs. The alleyway between the grocery and the drug store would take them out to Olympic and the station across from Cynthia Park. If he timed it right, and he did, they’d hop on the 37 bus back to the hub and be in before dinner. 

But the universe had other plans. 

“Halt!” an amplified voice commands from the cruiser, but they would do no such thing. Feet pound the concrete sidewalk as the group wordlessly rounds the corner to sprint down the previously-decided escape route. 

“Son of a bitch, I knew it,” Officer Kennedy mumbles as he reaches for his radio to call it in. “Should have been here five minutes ago.” 

But Kennedy is talking to himself as his partner, young and eager to move up the ranks, is already in pursuit. 

 

\-----

 

Ben Solo silences his phone. _It can wait._ Truthfully, the world could wait where she was concerned. Never had a 10,000 mile service been more welcome than when Ben set eyes on Rey in Niima Garage.  
_Under his hood, she slides the dipstick out of the engine. Even in khaki coveralls, she is beautiful. Whisps of hair escape her three buns, dusting her freckled cheeks. She’s focused, but her brows remain unknit, her nose uncrinkled, as though she’s done this a thousand times. Maybe she has. The door separating the front office from the garage slams open. That creature of a man Ben spoke to on the phone, her boss, he assumes, yells incoherently at her. Ben’s fingers curl. She nods without looking at him as he recedes back into his office. Absently, she cleans her delicate hands with a wash cloth, staring straight ahead at nothing. Ben imagines asking her to come away with him. Anywhere she wanted to go, he’d take her. At first she’d be understandably hesitant, but then she’d feel their undeniable connection, and then neither one of them would ever be alone again. Through the one-way glass from the waiting area into the garage, Ben sees her take a moment for herself. She trails a single finger along the side of his 2018 TIE Silencer, a hint of a smile on her lips. Ben’s heart skips. She was admiring his car. Something he picked out himself. That night, he loosens every belt he finds and rips off his windshield wiper blades for an excuse to see her the next day._  
And now here she is in front of him, and they’re not going to ruin this for him. 

“Is it important?” she asks. She wears her hair down tonight for the first time Ben’s seen. He loves it.

“Not as important as you,” he smolders quietly, secretly very proud of himself for that one. He leans in slightly and he’s now close enough to smell her. You know how when you’ve been away for awhile and when you come back you realize you’ve been missing that comfortable smell of your bed and your blankets and your kitchen that tells you you’re home? That’s what Rey smells like. She smiles that brilliant smile up at him, and backs up a single step beyond her door frame to casually invite him in. 

 

\-----

 

Poe knocks over unsuspecting trash cans and any other errant debris he passes in the alleyway in an attempt to slow down the trailing officer. He hears the young white man yelling after them but Poe doesn’t listen.

“Tallie! The ladder!” he shouts, and the fair-skinned woman understands immediately. She flips around on her heel so she’s running backwards and launches the small stepladder at the cop. It doesn’t quite connect, but lands right in front of his feet before he has time to react, tripping him. The move buys them ten precious seconds. They reach the intersection and turn right onto Olympic. 

But they’re too late. Two cop cars barrel towards them, sirens whirring and flashes of red and blue illuminating the tall apartment complexes confining them. 

“Shit, Poe!”

“Back north! We’ll – we’ll…” Poe didn’t finish his sentence as he and the rest of the Rebellion about-faced. He would later blame it on the fact that he was very much out of breath, but truthfully they had been cut off from the nearest station and he had no plan B. His feet carry him as fast as they can, but as the sirens grow louder, part of his heart tells him this might be it. Breaks screech and doors slam behind him.

“They’re on foot!” Finn affirms his assumptions. 

The word ‘scatter’ is on his lips when a _bang!_ and a scream reverberates down the whole street. 

 

\-----

 

Rey is a bit nervous and doesn’t really know what she’s doing; she hopes she walks confidently enough to mask this fact. She’s not totally sure why she invited him in; she’s not one to go to bed on a third date, but there’s not exactly a whole lot to _do_ in her apartment. Panic flashes across Rey’s mind at the idea that, in her selfish desire to keep the night going, she might have accidentally outed herself as a boring person. As they pass through the tiny galley kitchen, Rey racks her brain for activities that aren’t running her hands all over his enormous shoulders.

“Hope it’s okay if we’re in my room; there isn’t really a nice place to sit anywhere else,” Rey laments, throwing obvious shade at her boss’s abhorrent lifestyle. 

“I’ll have to thank Plutt later,” Ben says, smooth as glass. Rey smiles again; she feels like she’s always smiling around Ben. He was funny, but the dryness of his humor made him more polished than other funny guys she’s met. She unlocks the door and pushes it open.  
Immediately, Ben seems drawn to the oil paintings decorating her walls. Of course art had come up as one of her hobbies in conversation, but now that he stood before her work, judging both it and her simultaneously, she felt embarrassed. 

“Did you do this?” he asks, motioning to her version of Waterlilies by Monet. It was a darker palate and the work as a whole was more muted. The viewer is looking at the underside of the lilies, as though they are beneath the surface of the pond. Rey nods. 

“It’s an interesting vantage point. I feel like I’m trapped, but the view is so beautiful I don’t necessarily want to leave,” he postulates. 

“But you know the view is better if you’re on that bridge, looking down onto the lilies. And it’s sunny out,” Rey continues for him. 

“Yet here you stay, below the surface, making the best of it,” he turns towards her and takes a tentative step closer. 

“At least I get to see the lilies at all,” Rey muses with a sad smile as she shrugs her shoulders. She feels silly for the swell of emotion in her chest, but she felt so _understood._ These types of conversations can’t be had with just anybody – _just him._ She knew Ben shared her enjoyment of art; their first date had been to a gallery, after all. But she can’t understand how an artist’s message just pops out at him like it’s boldened, italicized, and adorned with flashing lights. Rey thought The Dream was a woman escaping societal pressures for a few brief moments of solitude, but Ben immediately picked up it was a sexual image of Picasso’s mistress. _There’s even a dick in it,_ he had said. _And he was right._

“You’re too good at that, Ben Solo,” Rey smiles, lightening the mood. 

“I look forward to the day you stump me,” he playfully jabs back. 

“Oh, then MOCA will be our next date,” she laughs, idling straightening the pillow on her bed. 

“I said it once and I’ll say it again: modern art is for entertainment, nothing more,” he affirms, picking up a framed photo sitting innocently on Rey’s desk. Rey and her best friend from high school, standing in front of the London Eye, holding an absurdly huge bag of popcorn. Rey is laughing so hard her face is kind of blurry. It’s the only photo she has of her younger self. 

“So is, like, every song that’s ever been made, but that doesn’t mean they don’t mean something to the people who wrote them,” she points out, folding her arms. In the back of her mind, she wonders about his opinion on the photo. Ben ponders this for a moment. 

“Ah, but wouldn’t you say lots of modern songs are simply written for mass consumption without any real thought or feeling behind them?” he volleys back, returning the photo to its original resting place and turning his attention to her. He takes a step closer. Rey purses her lips. 

“Well I suppose that’s true,” she agrees. “Nonetheless, I’d still like to go with you. You have interesting insight.” 

“I’d love to, Rey,” he purrs, looking deeply into her eyes. It feels so genuine, so sincere. Passing blue and red lights flash through her window onto his pallor expression, like spotlights on marble. _Desire_ boils hot in Rey’s stomach, willing her to just reach out and run her hand through his long black hair that so effortlessly frames his sharp features. His chest rises and falls slowly, and she imagines that chest sans gray button-down, above her, breathing faster. 

“ _Rey,_ ” he breathes again, but it’s not a question. Her eyes flash back up to meet his eyes, and embarrassment flushes her cheeks. How long had passed? But now she’s looking at his lips, and it’s like two opposite magnets dangerously close to each other. She’s not embarrassed anymore. A bold step forward and they’re in each other’s bubbles. Ben’s hand, broad and reassuring, finds its way to Rey’s small waist, as if they were at a ball and the prince just chose to dance with the servant girl in a shocking display of defiance to gentile customs in the name of true love. Yes, Rey is coating this moment in a sickly-sweet syrup, but, with his eyes on her like that, she feels like an honest-to-God princess more than any woman in leggings has before, and she’s indulging. Her hands start at his chest and run up to his shoulders, and even through his shirt she can feel the smooth mountains and valleys of his muscles. Ben inhales and exhales deeply, and Rey looks up to study his face. She wants to make sure he’s okay with this. With his lips slightly parted, he gives her that small little smile he does. It could probably disarm a nuke. Rey returns it, and his arms wrap fully around her waist, pulling her gently closer into him. She’s ready. Rey moves her hands to the back of his neck and gets up on her tiptoes, earning her a chuckle. Butterflies host a luau inside her stomach as she feels him crane his neck downward. Her eyes flutter closed in anticipation right before she’s dragged back into this plane of time and space. 

_Brrrrrring! Brrrrrring! Brrrrrring!_

It’s his phone again, but it’s not his typical vibrate notification. Both pairs of eyes pop open, but they’re close enough now Ben leans down the extra inch to press his forehead lovingly against hers before pulling away. Rey reluctantly lets go. Didn’t he have the night off? Wasn’t she more important? Is it another girl – what if he’s married? She steals a look at his phone screen as he pulls it out of his pocket before he leaves her room to take it in the kitchen. Snake? Least flattering codename she’s ever heard. 

Plopping down on her bed, she huffs. There were obviously going to be drawbacks to dating a cop, and really they had only been briefly interrupted once before, but she would be a stone cold liar if she said she wasn’t pretty miffed about this one. She isn’t even completely sure what a job as a detective entails; he doesn’t really like talking about work, which she understands. Rey knows he generally investigates crimes, so he’s probably seen some bad stuff one doesn’t necessarily want to recount on their days off. She hopes he will trust her enough one day to share more. His large build just barely clears the doorframe as he re-enters the room.

“You have to go?” Rey guesses, and Ben nods solemnly. 

“That’s the problem with being good at what you do,” he repines, pride nowhere to be found in his voice. “At least compared to everyone else there. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Let me take you out to MOCA tomorrow night.” 

He picks his keys up off the desk and throws his jacket over his shoulder. They walk together down the hallway and through the kitchen.

“No way, it’ll be beyond closed by the time I get off, and Plutt won’t let me out past-“ 

“Sneak out, there’s scaffolding outside your window. I’ll be there to pick you up at eleven,” he explains so matter-of-factly in her doorway. “Just for a few hours. If I can’t convince you to stay with me.” 

Rey rolls her eyes, but she can’t help but smile. 

“You’re crazy, Ben Solo,” she chides. “I’ll think about it.” 

“I’ll be here,” he assures, and he leans in to kiss her right temple. Her face burns, but she swears she can still feel that funny little smile. 

Rey watches as he descends down the staircase until he’s out of view. Back in her room, Rey screams into her pillow. Despite her life up to meeting Ben, she still feels like the luckiest girl in the galaxy. _Finally_ , some affirmation she made the right choice. _Finally_ , it was worth it. _Finally_ , things were looking up.


	2. September 1, 11:00 PM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to the user who bookmarked.  
> CW: police brutality, brief torture scene, graphic violence, cop killing, interrogation  
> There's a lot of political messaging in this fic and many of the themes contained are real problems people face today. Please check out these groups to see how you can help: RAICES, Los Angeles LGBT Center, Legal Aid Foundation of Los Angeles, My Friend's Place Los Angeles, the National Police Accountability Project, and the ACLU.

Ben Solo’s fingers were white on the steering wheel. _Of course_ those little shits had to pull something tonight. 

If you only judged by what you saw in movies or television, you would think this would be the norm for a detective: getting called in to _chase down the bad guy_ , following leads to _crack the case_. Ben had made that assumption, too, a year into flight school, when contempt for his family drove him off his pre-determined career as a pilot. He was attracted to the power, the privilege, and, of course, how very divergent it was from his liberal, rule-bending parents. 

But in reality, there is a lot of unanticipated paperwork and bureaucracy. Reports to be submitted to Snoke and the state, files hundreds of pages long from medical examiners and witnesses, unconfirmed court summons, and transcribed voicemails to be returned litter his desk. He used to pour over each case for hours, analyzing every detail to build a fool-proof case against a criminal. He broke down doors. He set up stings. He went undercover. He did everything he could to have the highest head count, to make the community safer, to be the best. And he is. He’s the deputy chief of the Detective Bureau at the LAPD, _and_ he’s the director of the Office of Special Operations, overseeing the counter-terrorism bureau. He’s the superior to hundreds of talented men and women. He’s locked up hundreds if not thousands of criminals, and he’s made Los Angeles a better place. But hitting his quota doesn’t excite him like it used to, and it takes longer to build up the willpower to dive into a new case. Nevertheless, his passion for snuffing out the Resistance remains hot. The Resistance has been a thorn in the department’s side for years, constantly filing lawsuits and complaints with the state, hosting protests, and mounting propaganda on walls across the city. The entire department is on watch for their members, but, as director of Special Operations, Ben is specifically assigned by Snoke himself to infiltrate and disband the terrorist group by whatever means necessary. He conducts all interviews. He organizes all missions. He is the chief strategist and number one point of contact for issues on the matter, despite anything Hux says to the contrary. This is what he does best, but he really wishes he didn’t have to do it _tonight. Tonight,_ he wants to be with _Rey._

But of course no one else is competent enough to handle a few fucking tankies. Of course he couldn’t say no to Snoke. Of all the physically and emotionally challenging thing Ben has done in his life, leaving Rey to answer that call was definitely in the top ten. But if he didn’t answer, there would be not only consequences, but _suspicion_ , and Snoke _cannot_ know about Rey. 

His anger festers the entire drive, and by the time he pulls up to the station, he could _kill_ someone. 

 

\-----

 

Rose screams. Behind Poe, blood had already waterfalled down Tallie’s leg where the bullet had skimmed her. On the ground, she clutches her injury, waving her hand and saying “go, go, go,” but Poe is on auto-pilot. He scoops her up immediately. She bangs her rough hands against his shoulders. Barred windows blur past. Every side street is bathed in red and blue lights, but they were sitting ducks on this open road, and Tallie’s weight was slowing him down. 

“Ladder! Left!” Jessika cries. 

Emergency exit scaffolding leans up against the brick apartment building like a beacon of hope. If they can scale it to the roof before the alleyway is swarmed, they can duck into the HVAC room or maybe even the rooftop entrance to the stairwell. But it would be close; patrols are pacing them on the parallel street and their on-foot friends only trail them by three blocks.

Finn scampers up first, with Rose right behind him. He grabs the wrought-iron bars, pulling himself up to the first platform, then jumping up to catch the edge of the second. He swings a few times to build momentum before hauling his upper body onto the hot metal. He stabilizes himself and reaches back over the ledge to help Rose up. Deputies’ voices are audible and their flashlights cut through the new cloak of night now covering the city. Finn feels his blood pumping in his ears. With Rose on deck, he shimmies his way up to the third platform when the breeze carries an accented voice along with its usual chill. Just before the sensation left Finn’s working memory, he hears the voice again, much more immediately. 

“Oy! Are you deaf? Sorry if you are.” 

Above Finn’s head and to the right, a brunette, tanned white girl leans half her body out the window and waves her arms furiously. She speaks again. 

“There we are. Hurry up! In here!” 

Yes, stranger danger bells and alarms did ring in Finn’s head, but they were quickly dwarfed, muted, and shamed by the airhorn of present danger below. What choice did they really have? He and Rose look at each other and simply nod.

Rose climbs the guardrail and, with Finn’s help, is able to latch onto the slightly-out-of-reach windowsill. The mysterious girl grabs Rose’s shoulders and pulls her inside.  
Finn leans back over the railing. Tallie is slung across Poe’s back, gripping his waist for dear life as he scales the rusty structure. Poe’s face contorts with the effort. Jessika is trailing him closely, ready to catch Jess if she slips.

“Poe – the window!” Finn loudly whispers down to them, pointing to the small hole in the brick tower. Poe’s eyes dart up to it and he lets out an affirmative noise, too tired to ask questions. 

“Stand back!” Finn calls up as leaps off the platform to catch the concrete lip and launch himself through the window. He roll-dives onto the old wooden floor of the tiny room. It’s simple, with no particular style and sparsely decorated save for two very large oil-painted canvasses hanging on the walls. _Probably not a serial killer_ , he thinks. 

“Is it a gang? Should I call the police?” Mystery Girl asks him in a rush, making a move towards her phone. 

“No! No, you should definitely not do that,” Finn stands between her and the desk with his arms outstretched. 

Heavy Doc Martens pound the floor. Poe. Finn turns to see his boyfriend safe in the room, but already leaning out the window to help others. _Just like him._

 _Crash!_

A chorus of gasps, yells, and cries fill the air. Finn rushes to the window, craning his neck to see past the crowded window frame. In the alleyway three stories below, Tallie lays in a pile of trashbags that, glory to God, broke her fall. She grips her thigh in agony. 

Everyone talks at once. Poe moves to jump down to retrieve the injured girl, but Rose grabs his arm. 

“There’s no time,” she says softly, tears already pricking her eyes as betrayal flashes across Poe’s face before he attempts to pull his bicep from her grasp and lift his leg over the windowsill.

But Rose is right, and Finn knows it. Finn grabs Poe around the waist and tears him away from the window. Just as Jess pulls herself through, the three deputies round the corner and draw their weapons on the young artist amongst the black plastic. 

Mystery Girl slams the window shut, her chest heaving from second-hand stress. Poe uses all his remaining strength to fight against the now-three human restraints clamped onto his limbs. 

“TALLIE!” he cries, with the voice of a man whose heartbreak contends with that of an underwater trench, split to the core. 

Outside the window, red and blue light danced across the walls. Tallie was rolled over and handcuffed before being dragged away by two officers. 

“Don’t you touch her! You filthy fucking animals. Let me go! We need to save her! We need to…”

Poe fights against his comrades’ arms, pushing on Finn’s biceps and yanking his wrist from Rose’s grasp. He reaches for the window, reaches for Tallie, as she’s loaded into the back of a cruiser. His fist slams once against the window before Jessika recaptures his arm. The fire dims in Poe’s eyes as he realizes it’s hopeless. Finn whispers his name and rests his left cheek against Poe’s moist back. Aside from heavy breathing, it’s the only sound in the room. Muscles relax and Poe begins to pace around, his brain already formulating their next move. Jessika puts her arm around Rose, comforting her. Finn turns his attention to the brunette next to the window. 

 

\-----

 

Rey surveys the four strangers in various stages of grief now occupying her room. Her chest is heaving. _What has she done_.

“Thanks – you really saved us there. I’m Finn,” the dark-skinned man moves towards Rey and offers his hand, smiling as warmly as he possibly can given the circumstances. 

“Not all of us,” Poe mumbles, now idly studying one of her paintings. Rey wants him to stop. 

“Rey. I’m sorry about your friend,” Rey introduces as politely as she can manage, taking Finn’s hand and scanning her eyes from new face to new face. She needs to figure out how to get these people out of her house. 

Finn opens his mouth to respond but is cut off.

“We have to get back to base. We have to get a lawyer. We have to post bail ASAP. You think they’d take her to a hospital first? Who’s got a phone? Call LA Regional.” the curly-haired man rambles to no one in particular, still staring at the same canvas.

“Are you crazy? Hux probably has every cop under his jurisdiction rolling ‘round this neighborhood by now – with our descriptions.”

“Jessika’s right: we’re dead if we go out there now.” 

“Well what else are we supposed to do?!” 

“You can call individual Ubers, can’t you? They’ll be on the lookout for four people in a group, not individuals right?” Rey suggests. 

“They’re gonna be staked outside this block all night, girlfriend. Probably set up a traffic stop. Ain’t no way,” the woman, Jessika, disagreed. _Crap,_ Rey thought. 

“There’s gotta be a way…” Poe trails off, chewing on his thumbnail. 

“Rey,” Finn starts, and Rey already knows where this is going. “Do you think we could stay until it calms down out there?”

All eyes turn to Rey. Inside her brain, her mind calmly proposes the question: _why do you do these things to yourself?_

“I-Well, I mean. My boss will be back in the morning. I have to go to work. There’s not much room…”

 _You’re wanted fugitives…_ She mentally tacks on. If she’s arrested, she can kiss citizenship goodbye. Should she call the police now? There’s no way she can pick her phone off her desk and walk into the kitchen without arousing suspicion, and these people might be dangerous. 

“If it takes longer than three hours, we’ll head out anyway,” Finn bargains.

“Absolutely not,” Poe butts in. “Tallie could be dead by then, Finn.”

“Two,” Rey counters. “Two hours, and you have a deal.” 

“Let’s put it to a vote,” Finn offers, already raising his hand as he does so. Jessika and Rose lift their arms as well. Poe scoffs.

“Time is of the essence, people!” he reasons. Finn smiles at him. 

“Sorry, babe, three to one. We’re no use if we’re in a jail cell too,” he says as he lightly kisses Poe’s cheek. It reminds Rey of another certain chaste kiss. 

The group continues their conversations as Rey goes to fetch extra blankets and pillows for seating. Tears prick in her eyes. She hasn’t been this scared since she left London. 

 

\-----

 

“You know, you’re endangering her now, too,” Poe quietly warns Finn, looking into his chocolate brown pools as the pair sat on the edge of the twin bed. 

“I know, but I have a good feeling about this. Maybe she can help us with, you know…” Finn trails off. Poe shakes his head. 

“I’m not sure I want help. If I see him again, I’d like my fist to be the first on his face,” the tan man smiles. Finn smiles back, shaking his head. 

 

\-----

 

“Report,” Deputy Chief Solo commands to the lieutenant waiting by the doors when he strides in.

“New detainee. An associate of the Resistance. Injured and picked up in pursuit. Four others still at large – Dameron with them. She’s injured. Thought you might want to interview her while she’s vulnerable,” one uniformed man explains.

“Four others? Twelve deputies can’t catch up to _four children_?” His voice remains low, but tension creeps into his vocal cords. The officer says nothing. “Funny how I always have to finish your job, lieutenant.”

Heat flushes the thin man’s face. 

“Sorry, sir,” the man’s feet suddenly become very interesting. “Anyway, she’s in room 23 when you’re ready.” He dips into a side office, thankfully leaving Ben to walk alone to the interrogation room. 

_You’re good at this._

_This is where you belong._

He takes slow, deep breaths and wipes away any remaining emotion from his face, and any lingering thoughts of Rey from his mind. 

He doesn’t even acknowledge the men peering through the one-way glass into the windowless room before turning the knob and entering. 

The handcuffed girl sitting at the table is young and blonde with stern features. Despite her bloodied nose and generally disheveled appearance, she glares at Deputy Chief Solo with fierce intensity. He says nothing as he sits in the opposing chair across the table. 

“Where are the others?” Ben asks calmly in his deep baritone voice. 

“Go to hell,” the girls sneers. Ben rolls his bottom lip into his mouth and looks down before leaning forward to put his elbows on the table. 

“That’s not an answer. Where are the others?” He repeats, impatient anger edging his words. They are the reason he’s not with Rey right now. 

“I want a lawyer,” Tallie smirks, thinking she’s said the magic words. Ben Solo nods humbly, silently standing. He slowly saunters to her side of the table, his massive frame seeming to occupy the entire interrogation room. He doesn’t make eye contact as he slams his hand on her thigh, gripping her bloody gauze wrapping. Tallie cries out in pain. Behind the one way glass, some officers cringe, some laugh, but none challenge Ben Solo. 

“You have one more chance,” Ben says just loud enough for her to hear as he digs his fingers into her wound. “You could walk out of this station right now. I just need to know: _where are the others_?” He practically growls the question. 

Tears prick in Tallie’s eyes. The pain is intense, and the offer is very alluring at this moment. Her chances of winning a trial are slim, and she could go to jail for decades if the prosecutor made a big enough deal about the ladder thing. But she couldn’t betray the Resistance, her friends. They took her in when she had nothing, raised her, made her a part of something bigger than herself. Nonetheless, the situation had changed. This was _her life on the line_. Maybe she could point them to the window they went through. If they’d already left, she could give the Order good info without doing any harm to the Resistance. No one would get hurt. Her eyes gloss over Ben Solo’s profile, but he doesn’t look at her. Of course she knew who he was; Poe had told enough stories. He was cruel and ruthless: Snoke’s favorite son to carry out his bidding. He had put away scores of Resistance fighters, often tacking on charges and stocking the jury to ensure speedy trials and long sentences. Tallie can think of few people she hates more. An opaque white haze begins to cloud her vision as the pain in her thigh becomes unbearable. 

“I can show you,” she coughs. Ben Solo briefly looks into her eyes before releasing her leg. 

 

\-----

 

“Finn you’ve eaten half the bag – pass it around for Christ’s sake!” 

The group sat in a lazy circle, propped up in their makeshift beds, drinking the water and feasting upon the snacks Rey brought up from the kitchen. 

“You don’t even like salt and vinegar!” Finn protests, mouth full of the savory crisps. 

Rey looks around the circle, studying faces. Despite her discomfort with the whole situation, she’s relaxed somewhat. She’d never had this many people in her little room above the shop before. In fact, since she started working for Unkar Plutt, Ben is the only person she’d bothered making time for. Despite moving to Los Angeles permanently a little over six months ago, new paperwork slides through her mailbox every week. Most of it pertains to her work visa and her path to citizenship, but even some residual court documents from her emancipation filing back in England clog up her free hours. In addition to being time-consuming, immigrating is also expensive, and since one of the art hubs of America is also in one of the most expensive counties to live in in the country, Rey works long hours each day. She fixes cars in Plutt’s garage downstairs from seven o’clock in the morning to eight o’clock every night to keep food in her stomach and a roof over her head and, of course, to buy art supplies. 

Art has been an escape for Rey since her first memories bouncing between foster homes. She drew her first drawing at the age of three with a red colored pencil laying on the table of the common room, and she hasn’t stopped drawing since. One family she stayed with bought her a 24-pack of Crayola crayons: beautiful gems of all colors of the rainbow sitting in a cardboard box, ready to bring her imagination into this realm. They were a cherished treasure she kept close and secret wherever she went.

Naturally, most of her early pictures were of her and what she assumed her parents looked like. Even just recently, she did a portrait of a nameless middle-aged woman whose features somewhat recalled her own. She tells herself it was just a woman on the street, but still she wonders if somehow she might remember her mother’s face from all those years ago. 

For the most part, though, Rey does still-lifes. She enjoys the technical challenge of how to translate an object from reality onto the page, and is constantly looking for models in new and interesting lighting settings. She appreciates contemporary abstract and surrealist art, and has attempted it herself more than a few times, but she lacks confidence in this style and looks upon those paintings without clarity as to whether they really express part of herself or if she’s simply just imitating the greats in an effort to feel more deserving of the title of ‘artist.’ 

“So, Rey. You’re probably wondering what all that was about,” the tan, curly-haired man, Poe, offers with a little laugh at the end. Rey pins him as charismatic, cocky, and obviously protective of his brood. He’s charming, but Rey hasn’t established her opinion of him yet. Side chatter falls away. 

“I can’t say I’m not curious,” Rey raises her eyebrows, grabbing a pillow off the bed to sit on.

“Well, I’m not sure if you are aware, Rey,” Poe straightens his back and looks Rey dead in the eye, preparing his hands for dramatic gesturing. “We are at war.” 

“Oh, here we go,” Jessika laments, rolling her eyes. Clearly, she has heard this speech one or twenty times. But Poe never stops The Speech once he starts. 

“With a corrupt, authoritarian system of oppression aiming to bind the people of Los Angeles County with lies, backdoor deals, and fear of persecution for dissent, to which they profit heavily off of,” Poe explains. 

“The LAPD,” Finn clarifies. Rey stiffens.

“What-why is that? Why?” Rey asks, choking on her words. She remains standing, as she may now need to make a quick escape. What if they’re cop killers? 

“So there’s three big players in the department: Police Chief Snoke, Assistant Chief Hux, and Deputy Chief Solo,” Rose explains. “Snoke is obviously the head of operations, and he’s obsessed with power. Like, he’d make a deal with the devil if it kept him in office for another four years.” 

“Probably has,” Poe jeers. 

“You know I saw some photos of him whining and dining the governor the other day?” 

“Great, just what we need: _Director Snoke_.” 

But Rey isn’t listening anymore. Deputy Chief Solo. They don’t like Ben. They might even want to hurt Ben. Fear pricks the hairs on the back of her neck. She has to get to her phone. She has to tell him. It sits there, across the room, on her desk. They can’t be suspicious. She has to play it cool. Her heart pounds in her chest as she drops the pillow, and slowly sits down upon it. 

“Moving down the shit list,” Poe refocuses the group. “Hux is the real S.O.B. Director of fuckin. I don’t know. Whatever the fuck. Operations or some shit.”

“You have a beautiful gift for language,” Jessika sarcastically comments with a deadpan expression. Poe makes a face. 

“Anyway, point is, he made a deal with the warden: if they keep the prisons stocked, they get a cut of the profits made from prison labor. Ya know, license plates, military gear, even fucking McDonald’s uniforms,” he continues.

“So they target people of color because, you know, they’re fucking racists instilling contemporary slavery,” Jessika adds, disgust tainting her voice. 

“And low-income people, since they’re less likely to post bail and get a good attorney,” Finn tacks on. 

Rey nods, a bubble of malaise rising in her stomach. _Was that true?_ Finn continues on. 

“As for Solo, he’s the muscle. He hurts people,” Finn looks down and puts his hand on Poe’s. “So of course he’s the one always on the hunt for us.” Finn gives a small laugh that’s quickly extinguished. 

Rey bites the inside of her cheek. Her brain whirs. They’re liars. She can’t imagine Ben, _her Ben_ , who enjoys art and loves his dog, ever maliciously harming someone. They don’t know him. 

“He’s Snoke’s pet. We’re not quite sure why or how, but one day he just popped up on our radar. A kid, just a little older than the rest of us, in charge of all those veteran officers. Can’t imagine they’re too happy about it. He’s good at what he does, though.” Jessika elaborates. 

“No he’s not. He sucks,” Poe disagrees childishly, not really believing his own words. Jessika laughs. 

Anger suddenly flashes up inside Rey. How could they just accuse Ben like that with such _conviction_? What did they really know? Who even are these people? What do they even do? They didn’t know him like she did. They don’t know him at all. His big hands, that held her waist so gently, moved her hair from her face so carefully, couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ , hurt intentionally. He’s not someone’s _pet_. Her eyes flash to her phone on the desk. How to get there. How to tell him.

“So why-why are they looking for you?” Rey asks, not wanting to use the word ‘hunt.’ Poe immediately brightens.

“We,” he smiles, extending his hand to motion to the other members like a proud mother hen watching over her chicks. “Are the Resistance.”

There’s a pause for dramatic effect until Jessika is done humoring Poe. 

“Basically we’re a socio-political street art group. Some bullshit happens, we paint a wall about it,” she explains. 

“We also host voter registration drives, protests, file lawsuits, provide legal aid, and redistribute food and clothing donations. There’s a lot of different ways to support our community and fight the good fight, and everyone is a valuable asset, regardless of skill or expertise,” Rose smiles. “But a lot of what we do has to be done in secret, because, you know…” she trails off. 

“The image, though, the image is very important,” Jessika goes on. “People see it across the country. It shares well on social media – art says more than words ever could.” 

“Damn I want that on a shirt or somethin’,” Poe says. 

“Would make a good paint water mug,” Rose agrees. 

"Fucking _capitalists,_ " Jessika rolls her eyes.

The red flashing lights and evacuation sirens filling her head quiet. None of the activities they just listed are problematic to her. They now seem more like a club than a group of fugitives. Why would Ben, or anyone else, care about whether or not they continue? The severity of the police response, considering there’s cruisers still stacked down the block, doesn’t really match the edgy antics of a socio-political art group. Unless this was all an elaborate front for some sort of millennial cartel. 

Alternatively, if there really is some sort of authoritarian leadership in place, they might react in such a way to any form of dissent. But Ben isn’t an authoritarian, and he wouldn’t work for a corrupt establishment anyway, would he? And how could she be so blissfully unaware of deep-rooted fraudulence and dishonesty in a major city institution? The news plays all day on the television in the garage. Wouldn’t they report on it? Rey possesses an unmoving moral compass and sense of fairness, and her brain feels thick and heavy processing this information and attempting to parse reality from fiction. There’s no room for a good Ben to exist in their storyline, but she knows he does. She looks backs to her phone.

“I like these,” Poe interrupts her train of thought, thumbing one of the big canvasses on her wall. “Are you an artist?” 

Rey snorts some kind of a nervous mixture of a laugh and a cough. 

“Oh, no. No. Those are just. It’s cheaper than buying art, you know. And. And the room really needed something. You know,” she stumbles. Poe raises his eyebrows. 

“Then I need to go where you shop, because in my experience, art supplies aren’t what I would call cheap,” he laughs, clearly not indulging her feeble attempt to divert attention from herself through humility. She’s not a particularly shy person, she just doesn’t like to share this personal and sensitive-to-criticism side of herself. Except with Ben, of course. Really great quality for getting a show, she internally sighs. “So, not-artist Rey, what’s your favorite medium then?”

“Just plain pencil,” Rey answers too-quickly. She used an old watercolor palate she picked up from Poundland when she wants to add some color to her still-lifes. It works well-enough, but the pots were a bit pearly in nature, giving her work a Disney princess aura she didn’t care for. Thus, most of her drawings are gray scale. 

“Classic,” Poe nods. “Maybe your art supplies are cheaper then,” he laughs again, and Rey smiles too. 

“But hey, you know,” he starts back up again. “If you ever want to not be an artist with us, you’re welcome to stop by the base.” 

Rey blinks at the implication. Was he asking her to join them? She has to actively try not to laugh to the point of tears at the irony.

“Oh, no, I can’t. I have fifteen cars lined up just for tomorrow,” she looks down at the floor. _And a date with one of your sworn adversaries._ “Thanks, though.” 

Poe just nods again and gives her a charming smile.

 

\-----

 

One hand, still bloody, grips the steering wheel so hard his finger nails make crescents in the leather, while the other massages his forehead and temple as he rests his bicep on the windowframe of the cruiser. Anger smokes below the surface, but he mostly just wants to get this over with. 

“Left at this light,” Tallie instructs from the backseat. More than iron bars separate the cop and the criminal. With two completely different sets of experiences, ideas of morality and justice were established long ago. In this fight, little effort is made to understand the other side. She shifts around in her seat a bit causing the handcuffs to quietly clank together, but, to her credit, she never cries. 

“Why do you do this?” she suddenly asks, taking Ben by surprise. He elects to ignore her. He’s not here for a therapy session. 

“I mean you have to know Snoke is just using you and everyone else. Wouldn’t you rather work for someone who’s, you know, a decent person?” she continues despite herself. 

“Directions only,” he replies coldly. It seems like everyone has an opinion on what he should do with his life. 

“Well you can at least get to the Wholesale District on your own, can’t you? Christ…” she mumbles. Ben rolls his eyes. There’s no winning with these people. 

They drive in blessed silence until they reach the unsavory part of Los Angeles. Three backup squad cars trail them. On their left, a man parks his shopping cart for the night and lays newspaper on a park bench. Ben hates this part of town - it’s the underbelly of what is otherwise a beautiful city. The sidewalks are covered in cigarette butts and fast food containers. Every other storefront is a pawn shop. It contains one of the largest stable populations of homeless people in the country. The apartment buildings are falling apart; the whole district looks like an ugly pile of concrete and raw metal. He just hates it. But since he’s been seeing Rey, he’s had to come here more often than he cares to. He can’t wait to take her out of here. 

“Alright get off onto Olympic,” she quietly instructs. In the rearview mirror, her eyes are shiny. “And then it’s an apartment on the block before San Pedro.” 

Ben’s jaw stiffens. He knows _exactly_ which complex she’s referring to, but is not yet willing to believe she means to refer to it. His foot is lead on the gas pedal. Either she’s lying, and she just happened to pick the worst possible place to try to throw them off the scent, or Rey is in danger. 

But when Ben sees six cruisers staked outside Niima Garage, lights no longer flashing, he knows the latter is the truth. 

He whips in behind them and jumps out, dragging Tallie out of the back and onto the pavement with him. With an iron grip on her arm and a stare intense enough to drill holes, his voice is a low bark. 

“Where?”

With exactly one tear cascading down her face, she pulls Ben into the alley with six officers in tow. The rest are ordered to stay by their cars in the event the targets took to the street. Standing in front of the very spot where she fell from Poe’s back and ended her life with the Resistance, she lifts a shaking arm up and points to the window her comrades escaped into. 

Ben stares straight ahead, his shoulders heaving. Everything that could have possibly happened to Rey flashes through his mind and if he wasn’t so focused he would probably go insane. He never should have left her, _he never should have left her._

“ _Find them_ ,” he commands to the officers behind him. He pulls his gun out of its holster and turns the safety off. 

 

\-----

 

Everyone adjusts their respective prone/supine positions to ones more conducive to sleep. Rose and Jessika doodle on napkins. Poe leans up against the wall opposite them, nodding off. Rey snags her phone from her desk as nonchalantly as possible. She sits down on her bed and opens up the shortcut to her and Ben's message thread right as someone takes a bold seat next to her. 

“So are you from England?” Finn asks. Rey locks her phone screen. 

“How could you tell?” she jokes. He smiles.

“It’s funny because, so am I, actually,” he explains. Rey’s brows furrow in confusion. 

Rey and Finn continue talking in whispers, mostly about their lives leading up to this point. They find a kinship in the mutual experience of orphanhood in London, and compare their divergent destinies: adoption by an American family versus never being chosen. 

“You chose yourself,” Finn reassures her. This gives Rey pause. She looks into Finn’s eyes. One statement had never made her feel so empowered and in-control. She resolves to make it her new life motto. 

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“It’s the truth, peanut,” Finn smiles, and Rey snorts at the nickname. 

“Look, Rey,” his face suddenly turns serious. “I know you’re busy, and are coming off of a lot of big personal changes.”

The attitude shift makes Rey nervous. 

“But I’ve made the executive decision that the Resistance needs you, Rey. You’re cool, you have a fighting spirit, we desperately need a mechanic, and I have a feeling you’re a better artist than you’re letting on,” he pitches. Rey is flattered, truly, even if it’s only because the idea of being wanted by anyone is still a new and novel experience. But she’s come too far to make massive changes to her life plan on a whim, and obviously she wouldn’t betray Ben like that.

“This Uncle Plutt guy isn’t doing you any favors. The Resistance has money, not a lot, but we can pay you for your work. And of course you’ll have a place to live. And food. And, and a _family_. Come with me, Rey,” he goes on. 

Rey chews on her thumbnail, and old habit that will likely never die. She shakes her head. 

“I’m sorry, Finn. I can’t,” she touches his arm. He couldn’t understand. Fin nods. 

“I understand. I’m still allowed to visit you though, right?” He looks at her, studies her light freckles in the dim lighting of the streetlights through the window. 

“Yeah, of course,” Rey says, and she genuinely hopes he does. “Can I ask more about Ben Solo?” 

Finn looks at her and then looks at Poe, who’s asleep by this point. Were their two hours up yet?

“All you need to know about Deputy Chief Solo, is that Poe was only in custody for six hours, and it wasn’t for another year that he would talk to me about what happened in that interrogation room,” he says in a hushed voice. Rey swallows and picks at her fingernails.

“How long had you two been dating?” Rey asks, concern knitting her voice. 

“We started dating two weeks after that. That’s actually the night I met him. I broke him out. I used to be a cop, actually, sorry I left that out, it’s a long story,” he explains, running his hand across his head. “I fell in love as soon as I saw him, if you can believe that. I know it’s some Nicholas Sparks shit, but sometimes you just know.” 

“I dunno, I think that’s rather romantic,” Rey shrugs her shoulders. 

“Me too,” Finn smiles. 

“So, so you knew Solo before joining the Resistance,” Rey connects, almost afraid to ask.

“Oh yeah,” Finn nods profusely. “I mean he was very much my superior so I saw him maybe, like, four times. But I knew of him. He’ll do whatever he has to to get you to talk. He’s a monster.” 

Rey felt nauseous. There wasn’t any reason for Finn to make all that up. And he was there. He knows what it’s like on the inside. He found it so repulsive he chose to defect. But Ben is still there. Ben is a _“monster.”_ Betrayal rips through her chest like an axe. All this time, he’s been showing her a façade. Lying to her… for what purpose? A joke? To get laid? She can feel his shoulders under her hands, how much she wanted him. The need to take a shower, wash her body, _anything_ to get rid of this dirty feeling crawling under her skin, comes on so strong she thinks about running to the bathroom. Stings of disappointment and anger manifest as tears. Of course this happened to her. Of course the one man with whom she shares a meaningful, effortless connection and allows into her most-private thoughts and experiences is some sort of a cruel fascist with a fetish for hunting down art school dropouts. Of course this is her life. Calling him now is out of the question. She's no safer with him. She’d confront him in the morning. 

“Can I ask you a question now, Rey?” Finn asks quietly. 

“Of course,” Rey nods. 

“How’d you know his first name is Ben?” 

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

“Open up!” 

Everyone is on their feet at once. 

“How’d they find us?”

“Look out the windows – the building’s surrounded.” 

“No, no, no, nononono.” 

The banging on the door continues. 

“Alright everyone calm the fuck down!” Poe yells, and the group shuts up and naturally forms a loose circle. “Okay, okay. We need a plan.”

“I’ll – I’ll hide you. They can’t come in unless I let them right?” Rey offers, panic high in her voice. 

“They know we’re in here. They’ll barge right past you,” Finn rushes out.

“What about roof access?” Poe asks. 

“It’s in the main stairwell where they are now. We can’t get there without facing them,” Rey answers. 

The sound of wood splintering rings through the hallway. 

“What kind of weapons do we have?” Poe’s expression is now one of resolve, like a captain who’s accepted his ship is sinking and he’s going down with it. 

“Knives, as usual,” Jess reports.

“I’ve got a can of pepper spray,” Rose contributes. 

“Okay, good, good,” Poe encourages. Rey disappears from the room momentarily. She kicks in Plutt’s bedroom door across the way and retrieves the rifle she knows he keeps and a box of ammo. Underneath the sink in the kitchen, she fetches a bottle of isopropyl alcohol, paper towels, a lighter, and a can of Lysol. She pulls as many empty beer and wine bottles as she can carry out of the recycling bin. She dumps all these items on her bed and then goes back out to fetch the odd lug wrench and crow bar lying around her “living area.” Back in her room, a Molotov cocktail assembly line produces several of the makeshift bombs with unnerving efficiency, leading Rey to briefly consider the whole ‘art club’ thing very well may be a front. Finn is loading the shotgun. Poe goes over the plan he’s just formed. Rey and Rose dash into Plutt’s room and take their positions. Outside, a single shot rings out, and the front door slowly squeaks open. All is quiet in the apartment save for police footsteps stealthily plodding along the linoleum kitchen floor. 

The Order’s biggest strength was their superior weaponry. The Resistance, however, had the element of surprise and homefield advantage. Two officers made quick work of the locks on the doors to both Rey and Plutt’s rooms. Three officers fanned out into each room. Confused to find the rooms seemingly-empty for about six seconds, one officer comments:  
“Man, he’s gonna be pissed.”  
Then a crash of broken glass fills their vision with fire. Striking her target right across the helmets with three cocktails each, Jessika watches the first intruder in Rey’s room cry out and run out of the room in an attempt to escape the flames engulfing his body. An adversary meets a similar fate in Plutt’s room by Rose’s hand. Bullets immediately start blindly flying from the four police officers left, but Poe backs up the initial onslaught with a homemade close-range flamethrower (an aerosol can and a lighter). Temporarily blinded, Finn stands behind Poe, picking each officer off with the rifle. Meanwhile, in Plutt’s room, Rose dodges bullet from the two remaining police officers, spraying gusts of pepper spray into the air whenever possible. The room becomes clogged with the toxic mist, entering the enemies’ throats until they’re too preoccupied with coughing to notice Rey come up behind them and nail them in the back of the helmet with a lug wrench. They fall to the ground, out cold. 

Rey stands in the middle of her boss’s room, frozen, still holding the wrench high in the air. Adrenaline courses through her veins and she stares wide-eyed at Rose, her chest heaving.

“That was badass!” Rose squeals before grabbing Rey’s wrist and pulling her out of the room. 

The two mission cells meet in the hallway, excitedly congratulating each other all the way to the front door. Jessika looks through the peephole. 

“Clear,” she whispers. 

It suddenly occurs to Rey she’s now an accessory to a very serious crime. She won’t be able to come back. They had just _murdered police officers_ in her _apartment_. The life she had is over. 

“Wait!” she says. “I need to grab a few things.” 

“For Christ’s sake, hurry!” Poe whisper-yells. 

She runs to her destroyed room, fetching the box where she keeps all of her important papers. Looking over her room for the last time, she picks up her sketchbook, her phone, her purse, and the framed photo on her desk. She exits, and doesn’t look back. 

The sprint up the stairs to the roof goes without hiccup. No cops are in pursuit, and the doorhatch to the roof is even unlocked. In fact, it’s almost too easy. As soon as they rush out into the cool night air, it’s immediately apparent why.

There in front of them stands Deputy Chief Ben Solo, flanked by twelve officers in total, all with their guns trained. Tallie stands about ten feet behind him, not making eye contact. Poe’s lips tighten into a harsh line. Two cops leave the line up to close the hatch and lock it back behind them. No one says a word. Every member of the Resistance, and Rey, slowly raise their hands to the sky. 

The air about Ben Solo is completely unrecognizable to Rey. He’s hardened, cold, unforgiving. Most unsettling though, is that he never takes his eyes off her, not even for a second. But she can’t say she doesn’t meet his stare, either. 

“Arrest them,” he instructs simply, his full lips curling.

Two officers to a fugitive, their arms are pulled behind their backs and they’re handcuffed swiftly and efficiently. No rights are read. Ben walks up to the two officers manhandling Rey. 

“I’ll take this one myself,” he informs coolly, not a thread of compassion to be found. The two cops give strange looks to each other but back off. Ben places his hand on the small of Rey’s back and collects her personal belongings in his arms. Even in this nightmare situation, it still makes Rey shiver. 

“Come with me,” that low sultry voice commands, and a bitter laugh rings out inside Rey’s head. Ironic: the words she longed to hear, now cutting her deeper than any knife. She obeys.


	3. September 2, 2:00 AM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the users who bookmarked and left kudos.   
> Sorry for the late update. Grad school is kicking my ass. Shooting for a chapter a week.   
> This chapter is partially inspired by the guy in the dorm sophomore year of undergrad who set off the fire alarm at one o'clock in the morning by forgetting to put water in the Easy Mac before microwaving it. Art imitates life.   
> As you know, themes and issues discussed in this fic occur in reality. Check out the notes in the previous chapters to see how you can help.   
> CW: graphic violence, more cop killing, possession/obsessive behavior

“You _let them in?!_ ” Ben yells. At this point, he’s no longer concerned if he can be heard outside the confines of the small office. 

“I thought they were in trouble! I thought they were being attacked!” Rey defends herself. She’s sitting down at Ben’s imploration, but thankfully he uncuffed her as soon as they were alone. 

“So you just open up your window to anyone running around at night? _In the wholesale district?_ ” he roars, his hands thrown out on either side of him. 

“They looked normal!” Internally, Rey knows it was a reckless decision, and truthfully she wishes she hadn’t done it. But it’s too late now.

“Ted Bundy looked normal!” Ben paces around the cramped room, dodging the extra furniture the department keeps in here. “They could have raped you – you could have been killed!” He places his hands on the back of his head, curling and uncurling his fingers. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the specialness of the invitation into Rey’s little world is tainted. 

Rey recalls Finn’s eyes on Poe’s sleeping form. “I feel like that was very unlikely to happen.” 

“But you didn’t know that!” He wants to grab her head and shake her. “They killed six cops, Rey! They’re murderers and terrorists! Your life means nothing to them.” 

Rey breathes in deeply. He still believes they had held her against her will, that they were kidnapping her. He doesn’t know what she did. It crosses her mind that’s the story she could go with. Ben would cover for her. Life would resume and she could wash her hands of the whole thing.   
But how long could she live like that? Now that her eyes are open, could she tie the blindfold back on? 

“Don’t worry – I’ll handle this. You just – you just tell them-“

“And what are you?” she interrupts, staring at his profile: his large nose, his angular jawline. He stops pacing and turns to her. 

“What?” he whispers. 

“They’re murderers and terrorists. But what are you, Ben Solo?” Rey stands to her feet and steps towards him. “What do you do here? What happens in this police department?” Her bottom lip begins to quiver but she bites it, fighting back tears. Ben stares at her, lips slightly parted. 

“I’m a detective, Rey, you know that-“

“And what exactly does that mean? What do you do every day?” Another step. Frustrated, angry tears catch in her eyelashes. 

Ben knows she knows but he won’t give it to her. He can’t tell her. He can’t watch the way she looks at him change. 

“I-I file reports to the state, I investigate crime scenes, I-“

“Do you hurt people, Ben?” Tears fall freely from Rey’s eyes now. She’s powerless to stop them. “Does Hux have a deal with the warden? Does the department buy off politicians?” Her words are rushed but if she doesn’t say them now she’s not sure she ever will. 

Ben’s world spins. They had gotten to her first. 

“Rey, whatever they told you, it’s propaganda. They spin the truth to justify crimes.” 

“Is it true or not?!” she yells now, inches from his chest, staring up into his eyes. He holds her gaze for as long as he can until it’s too painful. He says nothing. Her swollen lips harden into a straight line. “When you release me, I don’t ever want to see you again.” 

Blood pumps at a deafening pace through Ben’s ears. He wants to handcuff her to the chair and lock the door. He could threaten her. _Stay with me or I’ll turn you in._ All the cards are in his hand; he has complete control in this situation, so why does he feel so desperate? 

“Rey, listen to me,” he grabs her waist, his large hands almost completely wrapping around her. He needs her to understand. He needs her to _choose_ to be with him anyway.

Rey shoves back against his chest immediately, like she’s been stung. “No! No, you don’t get to touch me,” she growls, pulling his hands from her. “You’re a _monster_.” 

Ben doesn’t try to stop her as she gathers her personal items in her arms. Not an ounce of protest is heard from him as Rey storms out of the glorified storage closet into the hallway. He’d find her again. She had nowhere left to go, and he could give her everything she needed. 

“Yes I am,” he whispers to himself. Before he exits the small room, he washes any lingering emotion from his brain. It had been half an hour since he and Rey arrived at the station, and they should be done with processing by now. He’d pay a visit to the holding cells. 

 

\-----

 

Rey runs through the halls of the police station with her life in her arms. She needs to find a way out, but once she did, where would she go? _Where would she go?_ She can’t go back to the crime scene that is her apartment and the job that she’s definitely fired from, but she’s lost her one friend in this strange new city. America seemed like a land of promise, a place where she could find answers and belonging, but it had only brought heartbreak and disappointment. She’ll have to pool together her remaining cash for a one-way ticket back to England. It had all been a waste of time and money. It was two o’clock in the morning in this near-empty police station in Los Angeles, California, USA, and Rey had never felt so alone. Rounding a corner, she almost shouts with relief at the sight of a pair of unguarded double doors leading out into the night at the end of the hallway. But as her body comes in contact with the push bar, Finn’s words pop into her head. 

_And a family._

She slowly leans back and the glass door closes, sealing her off from freedom. There was one place left to go, but there was really no hope of returning to normalcy if she pursued it. She turns around to face the empty hallway. 

_Come with me, Rey._

She takes a deep breath and starts to form a plan. 

 

\-----

 

“So who talks first: you talk first? I talk first?” 

Poe Dameron sits handcuffed to a chair in the sparsely-decorated holding cell. This isn’t his first rodeo, but this is the first time in a long time he can’t pull a viable plan together. There’s too many objectives: it’s not only getting him out, it’s getting everyone else out too. If only Tallie had just kept her mouth _shut._

“It’s been awhile, _pilot_ ,” Ben Solo says coolly from across the room. “I’d almost thought you’d decided to do something worthwhile with your life.”

“Did ya miss me, _pig?_ ” Poe smirks. Ben ignores him. 

“But you’re all the same,” Ben coos, stepping closer. “So attached to your little club. Arrogant and self-righteous to the end. That is, until a better deal comes along.” He raises his eyebrows theatrically, relishing Poe’s reaction. 

“You tricked her, you tortured her,” Poe spat, trying desperately not to show how much Tallie’s betrayal hurt him. 

“It took five minutes. Five minutes for her to admit the inevitable. Who the winner will be. How this will end.” He’s one foot from Poe now, looming over him. “I wonder how long it will take you.” With that, he collides his knee into Poe’s nose with a chilling _crunch._ Blood immediately begins pouring from the damaged orifice. Poe closes his eyes, tensing and relaxing his face muscles before shaking his head. 

“You’re gonna have to do better than that, _Ben_ ,” Poe retorts, flashing the most shit-eating grin he can manage. 

Ben punches him flat against the right corner of his mouth. Poe’s head snaps to the side at the force of the blow.

“I have several questions. You’re going to help me answer them. As of right now, you’ve been charged with two counts of first degree murder, four counts of accessory to murder, and kidnapping. You’re looking at at least two life sentences. No chance of getting out. You’ll _rot_ in prison.” Ben paces in predatory circles around him. “But if you just answer these questions honestly, your chances of parole increase _significantly_.” 

Poe says nothing, staring straight ahead.

“I need the names of five members of Resistance leadership, the location of your base, and the details of your next three actions.” Ben posts up against the opposite wall, crossing his arms. He’ll wait as long as it takes. Poe is quiet for a moment. 

“You want the truth?” Poe mumbles. He looks up into Deputy Chief Ben Solo’s cold eyes. Poe licks his lips. “Your mother punches harder.” 

Ben sets his jaw. The cocky son of a bitch drew favor from his parents ever since they attended flight school together more than ten years ago. _“Good flying today, kid,”_ Ben’s father had told the curly-haired Hispanic boy. Ben’s father _never_ showed pride in Ben. It immediately pitted them against each other – a rivalry that lingers even today. Ben knew his mother, the outspoken anti-corruption Senator from the state of California, partially funded and gave a platform to the Resistance. He imagines his mother’s eyes looking upon Poe with a maternal fondness, maybe even embracing him. It makes him sick. If he had his way, Ben wouldn’t make a deal with the pilot at all; with him locked up in prison, Ben wouldn’t have to worry about anyone else undesirable learning about his parentage. 

Ben pushes himself off the wall, craning his neck from side to side and cracking his knuckles. “This can last as long as you want,” he promises lowly. 

“Oh no, Ben Solo, I’ve heard the stories,” Poe grins. “I promise I last longer than you.” 

Ben charges towards him, and Poe readily presents his cheek. The longer he can keep Solo preoccupied with him, the less time he’ll spend in Finn’s cell. 

 

\-----

 

_Crash!_

Rey elbows in the glass of a locked door to an unoccupied side office. She gropes around for the latch and lets herself inside. Surveying the room, she shoves her papers and personal items into an errant laptop bag laying on a desk. The number of computer monitors in the room is uncanny: at least two per desk. She indiscriminately yanks open desk drawers, looking for weapons or anything she could use to defend herself in the likely event the whole plan backfires. Disappointingly but not surprisingly, innocent pens and flashdrives are the only treasures to be plundered. She sticks the flashdrives in her bag, hoping that might at least inconvenience whichever poor slob has the job of backing up the dozen or so monitors scattered around. She slams the drawer closed, already frustrated and losing her nerve. Suddenly, all the screens light up, evidently woken up from sleep mode by her jostling. Rey slowly scans them all, lips parted. Twelve different areas of the station glare back at her in grainy black and white quality. Security cameras. She first looks for the one covering the wing she’s currently in, pleased to find no friends had turned up. Then she searches for any signs of where Finn, Poe, Rose, and Jess are being held. She finds them, but part of her wishes she hadn’t. They’re being held separately, each in a quadrant of the cell block. From the camera’s angle, she can see two guards, several bystander officers standing outside the door to the block, and Ben. She can’t see his face, but she can tell it’s him from his long, black hair, and she’s suddenly thankful for the low quality of the imaging because she's watching him _mercilessly beat_ a restrained Poe. It makes her stomach turn, and a new fire is lit under her feet. Her breath comes in slow, steady rolls. No more stalling. She knows what she must do. 

The office door is blessedly quiet as she opens it. Rey peers around the frame, heart racing. The wing is as empty as the camera showed. She sighs a breath she didn’t know she was holding and stalks across the hallway to her target. A shaky hand reaches out but pulls firmly on the white plastic handle. The siren cuts through the once-serene sterile hallway life a knife, squealing with the fervor of an injured animal and hurting Rey’s eardrums. She bolts back down the route she had fled from only moments ago, pulling every fire alarm she sees along the way. Voices echo close by and Rey knows she has a limited amount of time before she’ll be discovered. She grabs ahold of one last handle and kicks in the door to a maintenance closet. Ducking inside, she cracks it just enough to watch the night-shifters pass by. When she sees Finn and the rest, she’ll strike. 

 

\-----

 

“Oh _for Christ’s sake!_ ” Ben yells as the deafening screech of the fire alarm pierces his eardrums and vibrates his meninges. He shakes Poe Dameron’s blood off his fist and exits the cell. Half of the damn building better be on fire or he’s going to _have someone’s head._ They had mandated random fire drills but they wouldn’t schedule one for two o’clock in the morning. More than likely Lt. Mitaka forgot to put the water in the damn Easy Mac again. The officers on post look to him for guidance; confused expressions abound. 

“Well, go!” He throws his arms into the air. Fire would be here in a few minutes to scope the place and he can’t have those morons nagging him again about following protocol. He’s the commanding officer on duty and he’ll take the heat for any fines incurred. 

“What about the prisoners, sir?” an officer asks. 

Ben looks back at Poe’s ruined face, just barely hanging on to consciousness. It was protocol for _all_ occupants to exit the building, but he’d be risking their escape, and he also wanted to get away from this God-awful noise as soon as possible. 

“They’re not going anywhere. We’ll be back in soon. You and you,” Ben points to the two guards. “Stay on watch.” They nod.   
Ben and the other officers walk the predetermined route out front of the station and wait for Fire to arrive.

 

\----- 

 

Rey instantly recoils at the half-second glimpse of Ben from her hiding spot. _Monster. They’re all monsters._ This was her time; her friends would be in tow not far behind. She’d liberate them, they’d run away from this whole horrible night. But… they never came. Had Ben left them? What if there had been an actual fire? Rey shakes her head. It didn’t matter. New plan. 

She pokes her head out of the closet. Seeing the coast is clear, she sprints down the hallway in the direction Ben came from until she reaches a fork in the hallway. She takes a deep breath and trusts her gut, weaving through offices until she reaches a corridor of large windows looking into empty rooms, each only containing a metal table and two chairs. She slinks by. One of the chairs is crusted with dried blood. Her stomach lurches. 

There’s a door at the end of the corridor, and she knows it’s the door from the security footage. The fire alarm still rings shrilly, robbing her of one of her most important senses. She doesn’t know if or how many guards are still in there with them. She has no weapons, and the fire department or anyone else could show up at any time; she has no way of hearing them coming. But, the door separating them is a pull door, and that might just be all she needs. Closing the short distance between herself and the door, she accepts she might die right here and now. 

With no time to waste, she grips the handle and takes slow steps backwards, careful to remain hidden behind the door. She stops when the heavy metal rectangle is halfway ajar. The siren is still blaring so she can’t hear movement, but she can feel someone’s presence falling right into her trap. As soon as she sees the tip of the Glock peak out, Rey shoves the heavy metal door closed with all her force, jamming the cop’s arm between the door and the frame, causing her to cry out and drop her gun. Rey scrambles for it and posts up flat against the wall the doorframe is in. Panting, she clutches the handgun with her finger on the trigger, eyes deadest on the now-closed door. _Their move._

The door flies open, bullets spraying straight down the corridor. The armed cop charges through the doorway, flanking left when he’s met with nothing but empty air. But it’s too late. Rey steps in between the officer and the doorway, shooting him twice in the side without even thinking. Before she can turn on her heels to free her friends, the second cop, whose arm she mangled and whose gun she just used to kill another cop, tackles her to the ground, knocking the Glock out of her hand. 

The woman is bigger than Rey, pinning her to the ground with her good arm and her shoulder, but Rey is in another mindset completely. Fueled by raw adrenaline and the keen awareness that she has nothing left to lose, Rey savagely bares her teeth and headbutts the attacking police officer. The blowback creates just enough space between the two where Rey can lift her legs up to her chest and shove the cop off of her completely. Rey pulls herself up to her feet and grabs the gun off the floor just before her opponent reaches it. The business end of the Glock is now pointed in the woman’s face, with Rey’s finger on the trigger. They’re both breathing hard – their chests rising and falling at a labored pace in total silence as the alarm continues to drown out any sound but its own. The woman looks genuinely frightened and raises her arms into the air, and Rey briefly wonders how often the officer’s been on the receiving end of the terrifying situation she’s probably created so many times before. 

But suddenly, the alarm stops, and the trance is broken. 

It stopped. 

They’re already _inside._

“Open the cells, now!” Rey barks to the officer, who skitters to her feet, pulling a set of keys from her pocket. 

“Rey!” The familiar voice immediately brings a relieved smile to Rey’s face, even if her hearing was distorted from prolonged exposure to that awful sound. Behind the painted bars, Finn beams from the chair he’s handcuffed to. “You came back! You really did!” Rey let out a sigh and a head nod at Finn’s words. She couldn’t come up with words yet. 

“Him first! And unhandcuff him too!” Rey orders, barrel of the gun up against the woman’s head. She does as she’s told and soon Finn is free. 

“Sorry we didn’t get more time together, _Captain_ ,” Finn jeers at the blonde officer. 

“You were always scum,” she seethes back. 

“Less talk, more unlock!” Rey yells, confused by the interaction but without time to question it.

Jessika and Rose are next, but as soon as they get to Poe’s cell, Finn almost goes into shock. He’s a bloody mess: a black eye with broken blood vessels coloring his cornea, a bruised and swollen lip, a broken and bloody nose, and a large slash of broken skin across his cheek. Barely registering the handcuffs being removed from his wrists, he gazes up at his rescuers through lidded eyes. 

“Finn?” he whispers. But Finn is already teary-eyed and scooping him up into his arms, bridal style.

“Shh, it’s okay baby, I’m here. You’re safe now. I’m so sorry,” he mumbles, kissing Poe’s bloody forehead. 

And suddenly, the gang’s back together, without a moment to spare. 

“Let’s get the fuck out of here. You,” Jessika points to the cop still at the end of Rey’s gun. “Keys to your cruiser. Now.” 

“I don’t have-“

“Now!” 

She fishes in her pocket and throws them at Jess who catches them with ease. They book it out of the cell block and Rey locks the big heavy door behind her, ensuring their new friend stays at bay. 

They pass by the cop Rey shot, now laying in a pool of his own blood, and Jessika quickly lifts his gun off him. Rey makes an effort not to look at his face.

“Rey, you’re officially an A1 badass,” Jess compliments, and Rey can’t help but smirk. 

They spill out into the main hallway, and voices from firefighters can be heard in the direction Rey first came from. 

“Left,” Jess instructs, taking them in the opposite direction. They run as fast Finn can while carrying Poe, Rose running up ahead to scout hallways while Jess and Rey hold the flanks, fingers on triggers. 

Despite the fire department making obviously slow progress and a clear absence of cops, Rey’s heart races in her chest. Her ears buzz and she’s hyperaware of her surroundings. It feels like years before they finally make it to the double doors leading out into the lot. The cool night air hits them like the perfume of a long-separated lover, sweet and familiar. It’s quiet, save for the hum of crickets and cicadas. Out here, they have the cloak of darkness to conceal them, but the terrain is unpredictable. They crouch low, slinking between cruisers. Jess continuously presses the unlock button, desperately searching for a flash of headlights or the chirp of the corresponding car. The whole group is squatting, pressed up against cool metal doors when they hear the snap of a twig on the other side of the cruiser. Nobody breathes.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Ben’s low voice rumbles to an unspecified listener dangerously close by. Rey’s eyes widen. _Of course it had to be him._ “I don’t know, they need some paper or something. Look, it’s handled. They just cleared us to go back in. I’ll report in the morning, Chief.” 

Then, the passenger door of their cover opens. Rey can feel the slight jostle of the car against her back. The interior lights glow above her head. Intense dread and regret washes over Rey: a tsunami carrying her away from the security and trust she had always had in herself. This was her fault. _She_ put herself here. The shadow of Ben’s head moves in and out of view in the reflection on the cruiser to the left. Rustling papers and errant cursing are the only sounds in the otherwise silent night. Rey looks around at the people she’s risking her life for, all of whom wear appropriate expressions of fear – well, except for Poe, who’s still unconscious in Finn’s arms. At this moment, she envied the bloodied man. 

Her eyes lock with Jessika’s. How long had she been staring at her? Jess flicks her eyes to the stolen gun still held tight in Rey’s shaking hands and gives a definitive nod. The implication is clear. Rey stares back. Was this some kind of test? Had this woman figured it out? Maybe Finn told her: _she knew Solo’s first name._ If she doesn’t make it through this night, at least she won’t have to address _that._ Maybe they’re all just waiting to get her alone, for her to stop being _useful,_ before they _pounced. Maybe they’d betray her too_. She really doesn’t know these people at all. But Jess had called her a badass. Finn said she’d have a family. Rey readjusts her grip on the trigger. She’d risked it all, given everything she had, but she already knows she won’t kill Ben Solo for them. They won’t understand – she doesn’t really, either – but the tides ebb and flow without question of the moon’s strange pull. 

The passenger door slams and darkness floods the lot once more. Quiet footsteps plod in the grass. Passed the passenger side backseat. Rounds the rear bumper. Rey closes her eyes. He pops the trunk and shines his tactical flashlight. Mumbling something, he shoves the door down hard enough to make Rey’s ears pop. Whatever he’s looking for, he didn’t find it, and their side was next. 

_Plod. Plod._

Jessika aims her gun when a distant cry rings out. 

“Deputy Chief Solo! Sir! The prisoners! They’re gone!” 

Rey isn’t a religious person, but in that moment she believes that panicked police officer screaming at the top of his lungs from just outside the same doors they escaped from is the voice of God. Nevermind that he’s alerting the most dangerous cop in L.A. to be on the hunt for _her_ , he sets Ben on a beeline to, probably, the holding cells and away from the cruiser. Rey lets go of the biggest sigh of blissful relief her lungs will physically allow as she hears Ben’s jagged footsteps fade, but others are less comforted.

“Time to go, kids,” Jess says, already standing with car key in hand. 

They’re fully sprinting down the line of cruisers and it takes maybe a minute to find the one belonging to the female guard. They pile in, Jess in the driver’s seat with Rose riding shot gun and Poe sprawled out across Rey and Finn’s laps in the back. Rubber burns against pavement as they peel out onto the Interstate. 

Going 100 down the freeway in a stolen cop car, Rose is the first one to laugh. Jess and Finn join in, and soon Rey can’t help it either. The relief, the adrenaline high, the insanity of the whole situation brews in her stomach and bubbles up into her throat until she’s laughing so hard she can’t breathe. She looks over at Finn, who’s in a similar state and only makes her laugh harder. He meets her gaze, and Rey suddenly knows what it means to _belong._

She doesn’t know where they’re going, and she doesn’t care. She leans her head against the window and strokes Poe’s mess of hair, speeding off into the night with her _family._

 

\-----

 

Ben stares at four empty cells, doors still swung wide open with discarded handcuffs littering the floor. 

Officers bustle around him, taking photos and filling out incident reports. Somewhere behind him, Captain Cardinal is sealed into a body bag. Off to the side, Phasma is seated in a fold out metal chair, recounting her version of what happened for official police record. If it were any other case, Ben would be glued to her, grilling her with questions. But she isn’t a victim, she’s a failure, bordering on treasonist, whose incompetence cost him the biggest break he’d had. He didn’t care what she had to say: her _excuses_ for why she, a military-built police captain and combat veteran, was bested by a rag tag group of restrained granola-eaters. He’d get the truth from the surveillance footage, and she’d be dealt with accordingly. She cradles her wounded arm close to her chest. He wants to break her other one. 

“Sir,” an extremely brave lieutenant breaks Ben’s concentration. “The building’s been cleared. No sign of them. Cruiser 2187 is missing, though, corroborating with Captain Phasma’s report.” 

“Send out a squadron to look for them. Alert Highway Patrol. Generate a Silver Alert. Put their faces on the morning news. No one sleeps until they’re found.” Ben seethes, not even making eye contact. 

“Right away, sir. We don’t yet have ID on the girl yet, but we will provide surveillance footage stills to the major networks once we have them,” the young officer parrots a little too cheerfully for Ben’s liking, looking down at his clipboard. 

“What girl?” Ben is glowering down on him now, eyes wide. The man furrows his eyebrows. 

“Sir? The girl who broke them out. Well, allegedly. We have yet to confirm that part of Captain Phasma’s story, but I’m sure once the footage is reviewed…” 

The lieutenant’s nasally voice fades as Ben surges down the hallway and out of the wing altogether. He’s utterly exhausted but he finds himself running to the monitor room, pulling his keys from his pocket and selecting the one that only he and a few choice others possess. If it were up to him, the station wouldn’t have cameras at all; they’ve done more harm than good. But the state requires the footage to be submitted quarterly, and it’s easier to doctor real footage than generate three months of fake footage. And they’re particularly useful for moments like right now, when Ben needs to know if his girlfriend helped key members of the terrorist group he’s been hunting for years escape, killing one of his deputies and injuring another in the process. Is she his girlfriend? They had never really talked about titles… _Jesus Christ, what is wrong with you?_ Ben mentally slaps himself. 

It turns out, he didn’t need his key. When he arrives, he discovers the glass panel in the door to the monitor room has been shattered, shards still littering the hallway. Ben is immediately on alert, pulling his gun out of its holster. He tests the handle. The door is unlocked, and he cautiously lets himself inside. It’s pitch black. No movement. He flips on the light switch with one hand and keeps his finger on the trigger with the other. Empty. And in the exact same condition he left it in, save for some open drawers. He didn’t have time to think about this, what it all meant. He pulls out a chair and shakes the mouse sitting on the desk, connected to one of many computer screens. Simultaneously, they all light up, displaying different parts of the station. His fingers fly across the keyboard, typing in commands to bring up his desired timestamp. Pressing ‘enter,’ footage starting just before the fire alarm went off rolls on all twelve monitors. Ben’s eyes flit around, searching. At first, there’s nothing. Then, she’s there. On the screen just to his left. Running. _Running from him._ Even on the blurry monitor screen, she’s beautiful. Her hair is pulled into her usual three buns, and her movements are so small and graceful – she belonged in a ballet. She’s out of view when she presumably reaches the doors located not too far from where he is now, and Ben sighs with relief. She left. It couldn’t have been her. But then, like a recurring dream, she’s back. Walking this time, no longer frantic, like she had _made up her mind._ He wants to yell at her, shake her, beg her to get as far away from this mess, his mess, as she can. But she breaks the window, pulls the fire alarms, runs to the holding cells, and Ben watches the whole horrible thing. He watches himself, dumbly, walk right past her hiding spot, and he curses himself for being so blind and ignorant, waltzing out of the station like a sheep to slaughter. He watches her outwit his top guards, who play into her trap just as much as he did. But, he admits, somehow, the whole fight is mesmerizing. Her strength, her skill, her lethalness, it’s… arousing. He thought he wanted soft, doe-eyed, emotional artist Rey. In fact, part of his anxiety over Rey possibly being “the girl” was that she would be tainted, no longer the pure beam of innocence he had basked in. Subconsciously, perhaps he had hoped she’d fix him just by proximity. Maybe he’d wished to keep her as a medallion of proof to the world that Ben Solo was desirable. Maybe he’d needed someone as pristine and sinless as her to want him, so he might quell his incessant fears that he’s made the wrong choices. But watching her murder Captain Cardinal, nearly break Phasma’s arm, and dominate the situation all before a tearful reunion fascinates him. Her duality mirrors his own. And despite the pang of betrayal raking through his chest as she escapes with his sworn enemies, he can’t help but feel closer to her. A new sliver of hope cracks in his heart: maybe she’d learn to care for the side of himself he keeps locked away from her, just as he’s become so quickly infatuated with this new dangerous drug she’s unknowingly offered him. He’ll protect her, but he’ll find her. His hands unthinkingly curve, remembering the feeling of her waist. These people don’t deserve her, only he can possibly understand her. She’ll see that; he’ll make her. Ben plays the fight sequence on a loop, imagining being her back-up, their bodies moving in perfect synchrony as they eliminate their targets. He doesn’t think about the LAPD or the Resistance, he doesn’t think about Snoke, he doesn’t think about his parents. Only Rey, only Rey.


	4. September 2, 3:48 AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay.  
> Appreciate the hits/kudos/bookmarks. 
> 
> This fic contains themes and situations present in our reality. Check out previous chapters for info on how you can help.

_“I was thinking of flying today – whaddya say, kid?”_

_Ben’s father flips through the newspaper, smoke lazily wafting from the tip of his cigar. Shallow creases run from his nose to the corners of his mouth, which only seemed to turn upward to pull into a smirk. But Han Solo wasn’t old; despite being on this planet for over four decades, he hadn’t aged since he turned twenty. He was fit and active, making him popular with the moms at Ben’s school. But he never stayed in one place for long; there was always a new project or trip on the horizon – most recently, a flight school. Saturday mornings like these, the two of them at the breakfast table together, were rare._

_“Can I be the pilot this time, Dada?!” Little Ben Solo yells through a mouthful of eggs, eyes as wide as his plate. A whole day together – what a treat!_

_His father chuckles, setting the paper down. Hazel eyes look upon Ben, sparkling with a deep, unconditional love only a parent knows. Ben felt it, even when they were apart for weeks at a time. He knew when the moment came, there wasn’t anything his father wouldn’t do for him._

_The older man’s chair scrapes across the floor. Ben watches his every move, shoveling the rest of his meal into his mouth as to not cause any delay. But with half a cup of coffee still on the table, Han Solo stands up and takes slow, labored steps out of the kitchen, into the foyer, and out of sight altogether._

_“Where you going, Dada?”_

_Ben abandons his plate, confusion written on his face. What had he done wrong?_

_He sprints to catch up, bare feet padding across the wooden floor. The archway of the kitchen entrance passes over his head and he spills out into the foyer. Only, he’s not in the foyer. The creamy walls of his home had given way to massive gray concrete walls towering above him every way he looked. His feet, no longer plump and boyish but now long and wiry, contrasted with the wet-looking endless void of blackness below him. It was as though he were standing upon a vast placid ocean. Where was he? How would he get out? He whipped his body around; behind him, there was only wall. Panic shoots down his spinal cord as tears of fear well in his eyes. He slams his hands on the wall until his palms bleed, but he feels no pain. Tinnitus roars in his ears. He needs him. Now more than ever, he needs him._

_“Father!” the broken voice of a teenager cries out. “Father!”_

The first thing Ben sees when he wakes is the cold, dead stare of Chief of Police William Snoke. 

“Bad dream?” he smirks, his callous voice as melodic as nails on a chalkboard. 

It takes Ben approximately six seconds to remember who he is, where he is, and the events prior to his apparent nap. 

He shoves his face off the desk, nearly knocking over the monitor in the process. 

“Snoke… Chief! Sir. I’m sorry. How-How long have you been here? I was reviewing footage-“ Ben runs his fingers through his hair and rubs his eyes, trying to rid himself of the remnants of sleep as fast as possible. 

“Yes, I couldn’t help but notice,” he smiles. Ben hates when he does that. “We’re particularly fond of reviewing this portion, aren’t we?”

Snoke nods to the monitor, where Rey’s standoff in the holding cells continues to play. Shear horror clears the fog in Ben’s brain. How much did Snoke know? Had they ID’d Rey? Oh God, _what time is it?_ Is her name and face already plastered on every TV in California? The words _cop killer_ underneath? Ben’s brain ran a million miles per minute, but he didn’t move a muscle. He wouldn’t give himself away. 

“Analysis of her skills and fighting style will provide crucial clues to her background and threat level. Sir.” 

Snoke leans back in his chair, only a few feet from Ben. He purses his lips. It’s uncomfortable, but Ben holds his gaze in silence, until he leans forward again. 

“Don’t you _fucking_ lie to me, Solo,” he seethes menacingly.

Ben’s stomach drops to the floor. Rey’s life was over, and Ben’s was somehow going to be even worse. He wanted to scream and run away. Take Rey with him. Like he’d always imagined. Maybe England. Back home for her. Or maybe she wouldn’t like that. Maybe somewhere warmer. He had enough in the bank to pay a year’s worth of bills. That would be enough for them both, right? How far would Snoke take this? Would they have to be in hiding? He could do that, Rey probably could if it was just temporary. His brain only briefly acknowledges her current hatred of him as a potential, but surmountable, obstacle.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ben keeps his voice low and even, staring unblinkingly into Snoke’s eyes. 

Snoke laughs then, catching Ben off guard. It’s a chilling, hollow sound, like wind through a dead tree. The man’s face contorts almost unnaturally, his scarred skin stretched too tight over the absent portion of his mandible – the gift osteomyelitis keeps on giving. It might be shallow, but it would help to quell this new doubt growing in Ben if his boss wasn’t so damn _spooky._

“You are aware there’s cameras in every corner of this station? In every hallway. Not my choice, of course. But useful, nonetheless, for catching your most trusted and valued subordinate _breaking processing protocol_ and releasing an associate of a terrorist organization on no grounds other than your own childish _feelings_ ,” he spits. Venom and true disgust drips from his dysarthric voice, yet his body remains relaxed. Control wafts from him. 

Ben can do one of two things: hold onto his bluff and hope Snoke drops it, or tell the truth and beg for forgiveness. Immediately, the former is more attractive, but Snoke already knows, and Ben would likely just be postponing the inevitable wrath option two would bring. He very much wants to deny the accusation; he wants to be his old self – cold and ruthless, not emotional and weak. But she obviously clouded his judgement; of course surveillance would pick them up. Why hadn’t he thought of that? His actions had been reckless, thoughtless, like a child’s, and it cost him everything. He’d read her wrong; he’d thought her home in him had been enough, that he’d filled the hole years of abandonment had widdled into her chest. How narcissistic he’d been.

The amount of time a truthful person would take to refute a false claim had already passed while Ben Solo sat there, rigid, his exhausted brain playing chess with the situation. Option two had been selected for him.

“What’s her name, Solo?” Snoke draws, lifting a bony hand to retrieve a file folder sitting next to him. Ben twitches at the moniker: another cut, another reminder.

“…Rey,” Ben mumbles, looking down now. 

“Ah, yes, Kenobi, is it?” Snoke mockingly arches an eyebrow, thumbing through the small stack of papers. Ben’s eyes flew open, his heart drumming in his chest. They had already ID’d her. “Here on a work visa… Mechanic… Not much to look at, really.” 

True fear, then anger, then fear again rakes over Ben’s body. He hated Snoke: the kind of unequivocal loathing you feel for an irredeemable villain. Like the hunter that shot Bambi’s mom. But mostly he hated himself. He dragged Rey into this. This was his fault. Snoke notices, relishing the iron grip he has on Ben Solo’s every move, every emotion.

“Not to worry. This,” he holds up the folder. “stays with us. You see, as much as I would love to hang all five of them in the town square, this whole incident is very _embarrassing_ for us. What with an untrained street girl besting our top two officers and all. And perhaps, she affords us a unique _opportunity_.” His lips curl on the last word. 

Ben stares at him, completely still. His body juxtaposes his brain, which is moving in about fifty different directions, trying desperately to decode Snoke’s words and predict the future. But Ben was playing chess with someone who made the rules. As prescient, as calculating, as careful as he might be, he’d never win. 

“She’s stealthy. Clever. Unassuming. She has the potential to be an excellent asset. I was thinking undercover.” Snoke idly picks lent off his trousers, as if he’s discussing the weather. 

Ben’s temper flares. Undercover jobs were some of the most dangerous in the department, and Snoke _knew_ that. He did this often, using the detainee’s own fear and ignorance of the law against them. Usually it was kids off the street, no older than 18, booked for low-level crimes like shoplifting or possession. He offers them a “deal:” no charges if you get some information for them. They almost always accept, thinking anything would be better than having a criminal record in America. But these untrained kids get sent out to buy from weapons or big-time drug dealers. Sometimes they’re asked to be a mole in the gang they’re currently in or endure the lengthy and violent hazing procedures preceding membership in order to be a mole for the Order. Solid, incriminating evidence often comes from these missions, but over half of the “assets” are discovered and killed. Their bodies are handed back to their families without as much as an apology. To Snoke, they’re expendable – criminals who chose their fate. And apparently, Rey was no different. Ben had to think on his feet. Surely, there was another way to satisfy him. 

“She’ll never agree to that,” Ben swallows.

“No? Someone with no money, no connections, on the run from the law can afford that kind of decision?” Snoke feigns shock. “I could give her citizenship. In fact, I would, if she performed.”

“Chief, she’s more trouble than she’s worth.” It hurt Ben to say, but he was panicking. He couldn’t let her be trapped in the same way he’d been. “We need her out of the way. Videos like this, stories like this, are a spark. And left unattended, you have an insurmountable wildfire on your hands. I’m sure they’ll be using this event as propaganda, treat her like some sort of martyr. And we can’t have that. So, we get rid of her. We deport her, and that’s it. It’s a deal for her, and we carry on.” 

Snoke pauses to consider this. Ben holds his breath. 

“And _you_ will help lure her in to make that happen.”

“She wants nothing to do with me,” Ben says quickly. Even though it was his idea, he can’t be the one to put it into action. Rey can’t perceive this as deceit, otherwise his plan will never work. And on a pettier level, he knows Snoke is only making that request to cause him pain. “I’m not good bait.” 

Snoke laughs icily. 

“Everyone’s a hero until something more instinctual, _primal_ , is stimulated.” Snoke lifts himself out of the chair, collecting his file, _Rey’s_ file. As he slips out the door, he adds: “Besides, it’s not like you have a choice.” 

Ben has too many emotions flicking through his brain, fighting for attention. Anger is the one he’s least afraid of, so he allows it to take over, pulsing through his blood all the way to his fingertips. He springs to his feet. Snoke is right, of course. He _doesn’t have a choice_ ; his entire life belongs to his boss. But the way Snoke just _flaunted_ his control robbed Ben of any residual dignity clinging by the fingernails to his psyche. He despised his dependence. For as long as he could remember, he craved autonomy and to be free from judgement and expectations. He thought that’s what he would be getting when he made his deal. But instead, he found new and unique ways to suffer, trapped in a personal hell of his own creation. And that was the worst part, really; in the end, there was no one to blame but himself. All the steps he chose – actively opposing the wishes of so many others – lead him here, to distracting himself with a neverending cat and mouse game, to lonely nights in his big bed spent staring at the ceiling, to being asked to betray his only _friend_ with no way to refuse. Ben opens his mouth but no sound comes out. A silent scream echoes through his mind. _How did it get like this?_

Before Ben knew what he was doing, his fist collided with the monitor screen in front of him. It crashed to the floor with a loud and dramatic _crunch_ , a pistol-drawn Rey flashing on the screen once before it went black. 

The throbbing pain in his hand helped to suck him out of his own head. _Rey._ That would be his new focus: keeping Rey alive and free. Deportation was the only way to keep Snoke from her. She’d hate him for it, and, if she didn’t listen to him, it’s possible he’d never see her again. But at the very least she’d be safe, and that’s the most Ben could ask for right now. 

 

\-----

 

_Rey…_

_Rey…_

A hand on her shoulder jerks Rey awake. Had she been asleep? Car doors slam. Her brain operates in a fog, doing its best to make sense of the situation. Hazy, moving blobs shift in and out of focus. It’s dark. Rey groans. The night would never end. 

The night. This night. Pictures flash behind Rey’s eyes, the highlights of her metamorphosis into a person she no longer recognizes. Her apartment. Banging on the door. Plutt’s rifle. Cops. Fire. Ben. Screens. Alarms. Dead cop. “ _You came back._ ” A deep-seated migraine begins to form.

Rey feels nauseous. She’s a criminal. She’s a _murderer_. She’s _killed_ people. She’ll be on the run for the rest of her life. _How did it get like this?_ Only hours ago, things were the best they’d ever been, and now she knows she’ll never have that back. It must have been a record: she’d managed to squander her job, her apartment, her slow climb to citizenship, and her boyfriend (was he her boyfriend? They hadn’t discussed titles…) in under three hundred minutes. She had been waiting years to feel something, anything, other than complete isolation. And right as she was on the cusp, she knocked herself back to square one. Would she start that journey again? Could she?

Something inside her had changed. She couldn’t tell if it was the death of something old, the birth of something new, or simply a shift, but it scared her. What she did back at the station… It came easily to her. She barely had to think. In fact, she didn’t think; every move, every reaction was born purely from instinct. How long would it be before it showed its face again? Was this her, was this Rey? Or could she separate herself from newer, darker side? Her mind flicks to Ben, and a well of sadness and anger coats her chest. Did he struggle the same way she is now?

“Rey, you okay? We’re here.” 

Rey turns to the noise. Rose’s face occupies her field of vision. She had opened Rey’s door and now kneels outside the car on the ground to be closer to eye level with Rey. Concern is written plainly across her soft features. Finn stands behind her with a still-bloody and out-of-it (but blessedly-conscious) Poe leaning on him for support. The whole image, the way they all looked at her, it was… sweet. 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” Rey mutters, groping for her new messenger bag and pulling herself out of the car. The door closes behind her. 

“See you losers later,” a voice calls out behind them as soon as they’re on the sidewalk. 

“Stay safe!” Finn yells back to a Jessika Pava still in the driver’s seat of the stolen police cruiser. 

“Nah,” she mouths and waves a dismissive hand before flooring it down the dark road. Rey knits her eyebrows. 

“Where’s she going?” She asks Rose, who gives her an incredulous look. 

“We can’t just park our getaway car outside our place,” she says amusedly. “She’s taking it as far away from here as she can and still be a reasonable walking distance from a city bus stop.”

Rey had forgotten that loose end. For all the praise she received earlier, she would not make a very good crime lord left to her own devices.

The streetlights are dim on this stretch of road, which doesn’t aid Rey in orienting herself. She never really ventured far out of her little neighborhood, so she likely wouldn’t recognize any landmarks even in broad daylight. Her first date with Ben was the first time she’d actually gone out. He’d taken her to dinner at a place in Downtown very far north of her budget where the asparagus was thick and white and each glass of wine had an accompanying hors d’oeuvres. Bright city lights had illuminated their path to the gallery, where an exhibition of Mariko Mori’s _Rebirth_ opened in its first night of a three day showing. How Ben had managed to snatch up tickets Rey will never know. The glass sculptures were beautiful, capturing light and color in ways Rey had never seen before. She was happy, truly happy. And Ben had made it all possible. He treated her like a queen, and he barely knew her. He was unassuming, attentive, respectful, and responded thoughtfully to her commentary and the exhibition in general. That night seems like a dream now, and she knows when has the brain capacity to process everything, she’ll be mourning over the loss of what could have been. 

“Where are we?” Rey says in a low voice to Rose, breaking the tired silence as they follow Finn and Poe down the block. A car whirs past, causing Rey’s heart to quicken. She has a feeling there will be few times she isn’t looking over her shoulder anymore. 

“The Byzantine Latino Quarter!” For as exhausted as she must be, Rose is as chipper as ever, like a tour guide. Rey wonders how she does it. “Formerly known as Pico Heights. Also known as Pico-Union. It actually has a very interesting history. Back in the day, like 1800s day, the neighborhood was only for the most wealthy and the most white in LA. People even went as far as to buy land out from under an African-American man named Hillard Stricklen who just wanted to build a retirement home for older African American folks. But the diversity of the neighborhood began in the early 20th Century when lots of Japanese people moved in. Then, slowly but surely, Pico Heights became a mini UN, with people from all over the world immigrating here. When it was officially annexed by LA, they dropped the name Pico Heights, favoring Pico-Union instead. The neighborhood had become mostly working class by this point, and people assume _poor_ equates with _lack of pride_ , so in the 90s there was a push by the LA Neighborhood Initiative and UCLA and a couple other political groups to “reinvigorate” the neighborhood. Which of course means giving it a new name. Hence, the Byzantine Latino Quarter, named after its two predominant cultural groups. Like the rest of LA, there’s been gentrification. And, like every other low-income neighborhood in America, there’s predatory police activity. But this is where we can do the most good.” 

Rey nods. As amazed as she is that someone can know so much about such a specific geographical area, she’s not in a state to even try to respond. Thankfully, Finn (and by proxy, Poe) have stopped ahead of them.

“Here she is. Home sweet home,” Finn announces, fumbling through keys on Poe’s lanyard. 

There’s nothing special about the base: a concrete two-story building with a plain white featureless exterior and two double-paned glass doors. They open up to reveal a large open room. Everyone shuffles in and Finn locks the door back behind them. It’s dark, but with the help of the street light streaming in Rey can tell one wall is lined with mirrors. It looks like a modified dance studio, honestly. 

“So, Rey, this is our ‘storefront,’ if you will,” Finn mumbles, taking a break to yawn. “This is where the magic happens. Meetings, planning, events, community stuff, you know. And then we live upstairs. Relatively little magic happens there.” 

Rey lightly smiles, also feeling the effects of the night as her eyelids start to droop. It’s all she can do to make it up the flight of stairs. Rose talks in her ear. 

“We can share my bed for tonight, until we get you situated.” 

Finn flicks on a lamp. The upstairs is the same general shape as the ‘storefront.’ It’s a big studio, with one bathroom immediately to the left of the landing. The space feels comfortable, homey, but Rey wonders how they can stand to all live in such close quarters together. Room dividers and clever furniture arrangements help to delineate spaces. Furthest from where Rey stands now, there’s a large bay window. It’s the only opening to the outside world. The rest of the walls are covered ceiling to floor with art of all sizes, colors, and medias. Large, pop-art posters of neon girls with lavender lips dance across from the baroque _Bacchus_ by Caravaggio. The oil rendition of the god is in stunning likeness to the original, save for the lit joint hanging lazily in-between the middle and fourth finger of the hand holding the wine glass. Rey is immediately attracted to a small black-and-white charcoal sketch of a Rorschach ink blot slide. Underneath, it reads: _who watches the watchmen?_

“We’re home, baby,” Rey hears Finn whisper to Poe as he practically carries the older man into the bathroom. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

“Do you think these will work?” Rose asks from across the room. Rey catches the t-shirt and pair of sweatpants tossed at her. She smiles, silently thanking the smaller woman. Though she was about as alone as one can be in the flat, she couldn’t help the shyness creeping into her cheeks as she stripped and pulled on the unfamiliar clothes as quickly as possible. 

Flowing outward, one passes the kitchen and bathroom on their way to the ‘living room’ area, which features an entertainment center, a large gray sectional, and a few colorful occasional chairs. Stacked bookshelves flank the couch and help to frame space. Rey follows Rose’s voice down the catwalk that seems to be the main way to maneuver through the studio. Nestled in-between the book cases and the window is the ‘bedroom.’ There are two sets of bunk beds, stair-stepped so the bottom level is large enough to accommodate a full size mattress, while the top level is twin-sized. They duel each other on opposite walls, the best arrangement possible considering the rectangular shape of the room. Two clothes racks tuck in next to the beds on either side. A large fuzzy rug covers the hard concrete floors. 

Rose sits on one of the bottom full-size bed, her face lit up by the little black rectangle in her hand. She smiles up at Rey as she enters. 

“Oh! Hey, can I see your phone?” She asks, abandoning her own device to extend her beckoning hand out to Rey. Rey tenses for a moment, wondering if this was some kind of litmus test, acutely aware she had a very incriminating thread in her messages. She robotically sticks her hand in her bag and fumbles around for it anyway, not wanting to look like someone with something to hide. Pulling it out and unlocking it, she catches the time: three forty eight in the morning. Somehow knowing how late it was made her all the more tired. She places it in Rose’s hand.

“Thanks, I just gotta turn off your location services and check for bugs real quick. Should’ve done this earlier but I’m honestly dead. And it seemed like they handled you differently anyway. What was up with that?” She pokes around on Rey’s phone, takes the cover off, flips is around. The tone of her question didn’t _seem_ accusatory, but nonetheless Rey hears blood rush in her ears. 

“I think they thought I was a victim. A hostage. I was mostly giving a statement.” It was a half-truth, but that fact made it easier for Rey to be believable. Rey is a terrible liar, always has been, and probably always will be. She’s never really had a reason to be anything other than herself before now. Rose laughs, causing Rey to relax a bit. 

“I’d say you’re anything but a damsel in distress!” Rose hands back the device. “All clean, but keep those location services off, yeah?” 

Rey nods. It’s more than a bit weird to her how routine this night seems to be. She’s not sure how people are supposed to act after they’ve killed people, broken out of jail, and stolen a car, but she thought everyone would be a bit more frantic. Maybe everyone’s too tired, or it’s too much to process all at once. Maybe the default is to retain as much normalcy as possible to compensate for the abnormalcy of prior events. Books and movies don’t really talk about the post: what comes _after_ the wedding, _after_ the big win, _after_ the heist. This is probably because it’s too hard to deal with the overanalysis of your actions, the regret, the buyer’s remorse that follows a life-changing decision. That doesn’t sell well. That’s not fun. Rey doesn’t want to deal with it either. 

She’s collapsed onto the bed next to Rose already when she hears the bathroom door click. Gentle whispers and sounds of settling float from the living area. Waiting for Jess. Rey smiles at the sweetness of the gesture. If anything, the Resistance was a portrait of devotion.

Her eyelids droop closed and her mind blurs, giving way to the comforting darkness, the seductive numbness. The last worldly sound she hears before she slips into black comes from her phone: a single buzz.


End file.
